


Once a starmaker, never a heartbreaker

by ZoenOut



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has PTSD (Good Omens), Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Poetry, References to suicidal ideation, Sad, aka a bad poem i made
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23820130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoenOut/pseuds/ZoenOut
Summary: A night of Crowley being Crowley takes an unexpected turn when he wakes up to find a letter.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	Once a starmaker, never a heartbreaker

Crowley had never been much of a writer, not a reader either for that matter, but now he'd secretly gone out to buy a slick black notebook with red lining and a similarly slick black pen. He bridled at himself when he sat down to begin writing. Why did he have to get such ridiculous ideas? Every now and then it just, poof, happened. And obviously he couldn’t stop it. Take for example, groupies. It’d just come to him, felt genius. And then became a disaster, just like that. Another example, the 2019 youtube rewind. Somehow he’d just get bored and decide to do something, something he could have done even before the Armageddon’t. Somehow it never went as well as he hoped. Anyways, now he was sitting in his throne (another of his ideas, one that wasn’t so terrible that he got rid of it) with the book in front of him. Nothing. Mind, blank. How was this supposed to work? I mean humans write things all the time, it shouldn’t be so hard, should it? He had all the things necessary after all. But somehow Crowley found himself staring at the page for twenty minutes straight. Twenty minutes of nothing. That could be the longest time Crowley had focused on one thing in… well in a long time. Although it could be Crowley gave up, he dragged himself up from where he was sitting to do… something. Something other than willing words to paper, that was for sure. 

***

That something turned out to be an evening with Aziraphale. It’d been the typical, some new restaurant, the same bench in the same park and then the same wine in the same bookshop. Talking until the late hours. It was nice. Afterwards Crowley had taken a bus to his apartment (not so much because he was slightly drunk, more so to have an excuse to return tomorrow). It was late, around 1am and usually Crowley would go to sleep. But… when he got to his apartment and saw the notebook, it was a different story. He could only describe it as what the teens today call a “vibe”. Often referring to it as “me” or “mood” or even “same”. Crowley would know. He’d used his fair share of social media. Grown quite a following too. Hundreds, thousands of people looking at their phones because he, Crowley, had posted something. It was a nice sort of feeling. He talked to people too. The one he talked to most at the moment was a teen from Australia called Fox. He’d stumbled upon a post searching for “elder gays” to chat with and, apparently, he fit the criteria. Apparently. So now he sent a DM to Fox simply asking:  
“Thinking about writing something  
Need vibe tho  
Tips?”  
Fox came online, as so often, like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky. They always managed to startle Crowley, even though they weren’t even on the same continent.  
“Vibe? Start with music”  
Fox sent their messages in quick bursts, never long paragraphs. One after another, boom, boom, boom.  
“Maybe sit in the plant room,” came another.  
“Get comfy”  
“Tear music is good, the one that kinda hurts”  
Crowley liked to think this was the way the youngsters mind worked at all times, constantly hopping from one thing to another. Crowley’s phone always buzzed when he talked to Fox.  
“Tea maybe”  
“For the nice smell,” Fox added.  
"Candles work too" “Did I mention music?”  
“Could I read it when ur done?”  
Crowley smirked a bit.  
“If you want me to kill you after, sure”  
Crowley knew Fox was laughing, soon after he got the verification in form of a “lol”. Now for harvesting the vibe.

***

Turns out, Fox knew what they were talking about. A bean bag in the plant room, some covers and a cup of tea really did something. No candles. Crowley avoided fire best he could, after… previous experiences. But he did have music. Crowley had picked a playlist from his youtube channel. It was a good one, although it did kinda hurt. “Tear music” as Fox said. Although Crowley didn’t cry. Why would he? Frankly, he’d had enough of tears. He sent a single message to Fox.  
“Im vibing”  
Then he wrote. He wrote anything he thought of, anything and everything. And then he wrote a name. 

Crossed it out. Wrote the same name again. Crossed it out once more. For the third time he wrote the name. He looked at it. Looked away. Looked again. Then he ripped out the page, crumpled it and threw it across the room. He didn’t know that name, he didn’t know who owned it. Yet there was something about it… something familiar. Something that hurt more than the music. It stabbed at his insides, it threatened to rip him apart from the inside. Crowley hid his face in his hands. And then everything went black.

***

Crowley woke up, the sun was shining on his face. It was just dawn and the birds had begun to sing. He looked around, he felt drained. That was the best description, like someone had used his energy and left him behind as an empty husk. He sighed. Then something caught his eye.

There was a letter on the table in front of the throne. A letter sealed with a wax stamp.

Crowley picked it up and began reading.

***

“Please my son, let yourself show  
You already know I know

Don’t you worry,  
take it slow  
No need to hurry,  
you’ve got time to go

I know you’re scared of coming in hot  
Please my son, just shoot your shot

So tell him, let him hold you tightly  
Know neither of you are almighty

I know you still despise me  
But son, you are who you’re meant to be

I didn’t know that was fates call  
But now I know you had to fall

I see you’re hurting, I see your pain  
You’ve got nothing to explain

Because I see you, you know I do  
But remember, you have to see you too

Even I regret some things  
I don’t always know what fate brings

I do still consider you mine  
Maybe in a different time

You never know what’ll come tomorrow  
Could be joy, could be sorrow

So farewell my son  
Once a starmaker,  
never a heartbreaker”

***

Aziraphale was beginning to grow worried. He wasn’t worried until he saw Crowley left the Bentley outside the bookshop. The first day Aziraphale thought that Crowley might’ve just forgotten. But now it had been one and a half days and Crowley hadn’t showed up. Hadn’t even called. Nothing. Not a word. Had he gone to sleep again? Without telling Aziraphale? Or worse, had he gotten hurt? Maybe he didn’t want anything to do with Aziraphale anymore. Who could really know? The bell inside the door rang.

Aziraphale rushed up only to see Crowley in the doorway. Aziraphale opened his mouth to say some kind of relieved greeting before he saw Crowley’s expression. Desperate. Pained. Scared even. His cheeks were streaked with tears, his eyes red. He was clutching onto a piece of paper.   
“My dear Crowley what on earth happened?”  
Crowley didn’t answer. He just kept staring ahead. Aziraphale carefully took him by the shoulders and led him to the sofa. Before Aziraphale could sit him down Crowley stopped. He choked out a single word.  
“Why?”  
Calm. Then chaos.

Crowley's eyes went wide, he covered his mouth. Suddenly he sounded as if he was struggling to breathe. His eyes flew around the room although he didn’t seem to actually see it. He grasped the paper even harder. Suddenly on his knees, Crowley let out a dry sob. When Aziraphale crouched down and put his hand on Crowley’s shoulder Crowley flinched. He looked at Aziraphale. It was as if he wasn’t seeing him, instead seeing something else, something terrifying.   
“Crowley. It’s just me! Come on now dear boy, you can calm down. There’s no need to panic!” Aziraphale told him, while he himself was panicking.   
The fear on Crowley’s face dimmed slightly, replaced by confusion. Then like a snap he was back. Crowley was back. He was still trembling, still breathing all too fast but he was back. He was Crowley.   
“Aziraphale…”  
Aziraphale nodded quickly, not daring to touch the demon in front of him. Crowley held up the paper.  
“I think you better see this. Also, you don’t happen to have any whiskey, do you?”

***

Aziraphale was a fast reader. Despite this he had to read the letter a total of three times just to try and understand what was written. All the while Crowley was downing hard liquor without any regard for his own wellbeing. Aziraphale let out a deep sigh and folded the letter before setting it down on the table. He leaned back in the sofa.   
“Were all those things true?”  
Crowley looked into the floor.  
“Crowley dear, please answer me. I know you are exhausted, rightfully so, but could you give me an answer?” Aziraphale leaned forward again and with his softest voice added: “It doesn’t have to be a big one. Yes or no will do fine… anything at all.”  
Crowley nodded, ever so slightly. Because it was true. All of it.   
“Crowley?” Aziraphale held up his arms. “May I?”  
Crowley looked up, tears started streaking his cheeks once more. He looked at Aziraphale, seemingly considering the offer. Then he looked at the letter. He shuddered and moved just close enough to Aziraphale for the angel to reach him.

“If it was true then are you still hurting?”  
Crowley sniffled and nodded where he was resting his head on Aziraphale’s chest.   
“Would you mind telling me how long it’s been going on?”  
“The whole time,” Crowley whispered.  
Aziraphale slowly stroked his back.  
“I’m sorry I never noticed…”  
Crowley sighed.  
“You did.”  
“When?”  
“1862.”  
Aziraphale’s eyes widened. He put his arms around Crowley, pulling him into a hug.  
“Please tell me I wasn’t right.”  
Crowley nodded.  
“You were. I’m sorry.”  
“Still?” Aziraphale asked.  
“Mhmm.”

***

Crowley didn’t go home to his apartment that night. He stayed in Aziraphale’s bookshop. Over time not much changed, well, except that the bookshop has more plants in it now. That Aziraphale has gotten introduced to Fox. And most importantly that Aziraphale is there. He is there for Crowley’s nightmares, he is there for the flashbacks, for the moments when the world seems far too hard and far too cold. For the good and the bad. 

***

You never know what’ll come tomorrow  
Could be joy, could be sorrow


End file.
